


He Who Waits for Something Good

by caitbalfes (ladybeauchamp)



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And some obligatory angst, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybeauchamp/pseuds/caitbalfes
Summary: At forty-five, Jamie fears he will never meet someone that measures up to the woman of his dreams.





	1. Woman of His Dreams

**November 14, 2017**

“Hmm,” Jamie hummed noncommittally. “I can see why ye’d think this a great tool for finding girls. What I canna see is how it’d help me.” He shoved the phone back in his sister’s hands as though simply holding it was a sin—perhaps it was, he thought. Something about looking through images of mostly-young girls made him feel dirty.

“Jamie—”

“I’m forty-five years old. I’m too old for them. I’m too old for _this_. I dinna need yer help finding a lass, and frankly I’d rather find one in real life, not through the Internet.”

“Brother, ye canna keep looking for a twenty-year-old daydream. She doesna exist!” Jenny had the idea that Jamie had long ago—twenty years ago, to be exact—painted a picture in his mind of his ideal woman that he had been looking for ever since. “Ye ken the chances of walking into a bar and finding your perfect woman are significantly slimmer than those of finding her with the help of one of these ‘ridiculous dating apps.’”

Jamie sighed, wordlessly praying for his sister to _please, dear God, leave him be_. “I’m not looking for my perfect woman. I’m not looking for any woman. It’s you that think I should.”

“Twenty years is a long time, brother,” she reminded him, going back upstairs. She left the phone in front of him in hopes of him changing his mind. Unfortunately for Jenny, that wasn’t likely to happen. Jamie Fraser was, indeed, a Fraser and that was evident in his stubbornness.

Truthfully, Jamie couldn’t really deny his sister’s claim that he compared every single woman he met to an ideal no one was likely to ever live up to. And as ridiculous as it sounded, he had always thought his perfect woman was out there somewhere, he just had to be patient.

But now at forty-five, Jamie had doubts he’d ever find her, yet he wasn’t content to settle for second best. If no woman could ever live up to his fantasy, why try dating at all? Wouldn’t it be unfair to the women he’d meet if he knew he could never fully give them his heart? However ridiculous it seemed that his heart belonged to a dream.

* * *

 

It was later that same day when Ian proposed they go out for a dram. Jamie sceptically raised an eyebrow, giving Ian a look that said “I ken what you’re doing.”

“I’m buying,” Ian offered. Jamie wasn’t going to say no to that. At least Ian wouldn’t be as bad as his sister. Jenny had clearly stated her wishes for Jamie and would go to great measures to see those wishes come true.

As Jamie predicted, Ian oh-so-subtly tried to assist Jenny in Project: Find Jamie a Wife.

When Jamie had told Jenny he’d rather find a woman in real life, this was not what he’d meant.

“What about her?” Ian pointed at a tall brunette that was standing by herself, looking rather forlorn.

Jamie had to admit the girl was very pretty, yet he shook his head. “I went out to drink, not to find a lass. I ken Jenny’s worried, but I canna just . . . I canna force _it_ to happen.”

“ _It_?” Ian questioned. “Love?”

“Aye.”

“Well, how do ye expect it to happen if ye willna give any of these lasses a chance?”

Jamie sighed deeply and agreed to go talk to the brunette, even though he knew _it_ wouldn’t happen.

* * *

“Ian came home early last night. He said when he left you were talking to an actual woman,” Jenny said the next morning as Jamie was eating breakfast. “How’d it go?”

“Great.”

“That doesna sound _great_ to me. What went wrong then?”

“Nothing went wrong. She was nice, funny, pretty—”

“But not _the one_?” Jenny cut off. “Oh, brother, there is no such person. I thought we talked about this yesterday”

“Aye we did, and I distinctly remember telling ye I dinna need yer help finding a lass.”

Jenny sat down opposite her brother. “Why did ye come here all the way from Edinburgh?”

“To see my family?”

“And you’ve seen us. But, Jamie, ye never stay this long. I think you were lonely.”

“How can ye say there’s no _the one_ ,” said Jamie, changing the subject from his loneliness. “You’ve found your one in Ian, have ye no?”

Jenny’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “Aye, you’re right. But Jamie, I didna know that right away. Ye canna say some lass is not your true love after one conversation simply because of something Da said once. I only ask you bear that in mind.”

Whether or not he would, he couldn’t say. But Jamie had always fancied himself a good judge of character and he held on to his father’s words with an iron grip. When he found the one, he would know.

And however improbable it was that he would find this woman in reality, he knew that if he closed his eyes he would see her again in sleep.


	2. Fragments of Memory

**November 15, 2017**

His dreams were filled with images of _her_. He didn’t know her name, knew nothing of her but her face. Her smile was engaging and her lips sweet and full. Her eyes were alluring, reflecting the golden colour of the whiskey in her glass.

Her hair was pinned up, revealing a long neck. At the nape of her neck, a few curls had managed escaped their confinement. He wanted to take the pins out and free her dark curls. He wanted to run his hands through those soft curls as his lips worked their way down the pale skin of her neck.

She visited his dreams ever so often, usually as an abstract image. Sometimes he imagined meeting her in the park or at a cafe. Sometimes he wondered if he had met her before.

Most nights the dreams of her were amorous. He had never heard her speak, only gasp and moan in the dark as their bodies came together again and again and again. He remembered the taste of sweat on her skin and how soft she felt in his grasp. He remembered the moonlight illuminating her fine bones.

_Remembered_. That was the operating word, was it not? He must have met her before, how otherwise could his image of her be so clear. He thought his mind could never have created so perfect a being from a blank sheet.

When Jamie woke from yet another such dream, frustrated as he once again realised that _it wasn’t real_ , _she_ wasn’t real, he came to the decision to put an end to this once and for all. His sister was right; he couldn’t keep chasing a twenty-year-old dream. He was longing to settle down with someone. He was longing for a family.

* * *

“Who was the first woman you dated?” asked Ian, not taking his eyes off the road. They were in the car on their way to Inverness.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Ye ken who.”

“Oh, aye! It was that French girl. But that never went far, did it?”

“No.” It hadn’t. Jamie had been pining for Annalise a long time—long to a teenage boy, at least—before they finally started dating, and then it didn’t take long before she had left him for another.

“Why are ye asking me this anyway?”

“I remember who ye lost your virginity to,” said Ian, ignoring the question. “That was Mary MacNab. Did ye like her?”

“ _What_? Of course I liked her. I wouldna go to bed wi’ a woman I didna even _like_. What kind of question is that?”

“I meant could ye see yourself dating her now?”

“I ken what ye’re doing. Ye’re still trying to find me a woman—based on whom I’ve dated in the past! That’s no the way of going about it. Besides, I had a realisation this morning.”

“A realisation?”

“Aye. I _am_ going to find myself a woman, but I will do it _my_ way, not yours and not Jenny’s. The pair of ye shouldna interfere in my love life.”

This was not the first time Jenny had tried to assist Jamie in finding a woman. She had once suggested— _insisted_ —he date Laoghaire MacKenzie. That relationship, could it be called that, was brief and ended rather badly. They had been ill suited for one another, to say the least.

Jamie didn’t blame his sister for that failure of a relationship, but he was weary of her interference in his love life.

“Have ye heard about the art exhibition at the library?” Jamie asked, changing the subject. “I’d like to see it.”

“You’ll be going on yer own.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me,” came a soft English voice from behind him. “You don’t happen to speak Gaelic?”

Jamie turned around to tell the woman that he did, indeed, speak Gaelic, but the words stuck in his mouth.

He blinked, and then blinked again. He then had to stop himself before blinking a third time, lest she asked him whether he had something in his eye. He wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t, for surely his eyes weren’t seeing what he thought they were. He thought they must be deceiving him, either that or morphing fantasy with reality. Perhaps his brain was filling in the blanks of his fragmented memory with this woman before him.

But damn him if this wasn’t her. This _had_ to be her. It was that same sweet smile, that same curly, brown hair, and those same whiskey-coloured eyes. How many people besides had he seen with eyes like hers?

No one.

“It’s only,” she added, when he didn’t answer, “I was wondering what this means.” She gestured towards the plaque beneath the painting before them. _Tarbh-Nathrach_ , it read.

“Aye, I—I do speak Gaelic, lass,” Jamie said finally, internally cursing himself for taking so long to respond. He must’ve looked like an idiot. “How’d ye guess?”

She smiled—and what a beautiful smile it was, like the sun returning after a long darkness. _A_ _Dhia!_ If Murtagh were here he surely would have hit him over the head. He was forty-five, not fifteen! What was he doing acting like a lovesick teenage boy?

“Your red hair,” she admitted. “I suppose it’s stereotypical, but I did think you rather looked like some . . . strong Scottish warrior.” Having said that, she blushed.

“Ah, maybe I would’ve been, had I been born in a different century.”

“So will you tell me what it means, or must I guess?”

“I’d be willing to make a bargain, Sassenach. You tell me your name and I tell you the name of the painting.”

A strange look flitted across her face. It was gone too soon for Jamie to figure out what it meant.

“That’s fair, I suppose. Though I would argue that a better bargain is I tell you my name, and you tell me yours _and_ the name of the painting.”

“You’ve got a deal, Sassenach. For the first part of the bargain, it’s James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

“Is that all?” she chuckled. “I’m Claire Randall.”

“Is that all?”

“No, that would be Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall. I can’t say I usually give my full name to strangers, but since we did agree to play fair it seemed like the proper thing to do.”

“Well, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall, the painting you’re looking at is simply called _Dragonfly_.”

Claire regarded the painting for a moment. “It doesn’t look much like a dragonfly. It’s oddly smudged.”

“You’re not looking close enough. See there in the outer edge of the ‘smudge’, there’s your dragonfly, and that ‘smudge’ is supposed to be an amber.”

“How can you tell? You must be an art expert.”

“No, not at all. I just happen to know the artist of this one. Hugh Munro’s his name. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear you referred to his amber as ‘smudge’.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it! Don’t tell him—”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I said the same thing when I saw it the first time,” he said with a wink—or rather, an attempt at winking, and an unsuccessful attempt based on the look Claire gave him, as though she was wondering whether he had something in his eye—apparently he didn’t escape giving her that impression after all.

“I don’t know if you’re just saying that to assuage my guilt. Either way, thank you. Anyway, I should probably get going. I promised I’d give my colleague a ring. It was nice to meet you, Mr Fraser.”

“Wait!” _Way to go, James Fraser. You certainly don’t sound desperate . . ._ “Can I see you again?”

Despite his embarrassing himself, she gave him a warm smile. “That can be arranged.”


	3. Dreams of Old

**November 16, 2017**

He hadn’t dreamt of her this night, Jamie realised as he washed shaving cream off his chin, then studied himself in the mirror. It was just as well that he hadn’t, he thought, for she was in his mind every waking minute anyway.

Now more than ever, he simply could not get her out of his head. Perhaps it was because now the face in his dreams had a name.  _Claire_. Though he still didn’t know if she truly was the woman he’d dreamt of for twenty years, or if his mind had simply seen fit to fuse the two.

Whether they were two different women or one and the same didn’t truly matter though. What mattered more than anything was that Jamie not screw this up when he’d finally found a woman he could see himself with—a woman he could see a future with, even after just one meeting.

Jamie didn’t want to waste any time waiting around, so he’d texted Claire that morning to ask if she had any plans for the day and might she want to meet him for a coffee?

She had given him her number just before they parted the day before—with a smile on her lips that made him hopeful she was as eager as he was to meet again.

She had been quick to reply, much to Jamie’s further encouragement, and they agreed on a time and place.

Jamie felt almost giddy as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t even notice his sister until she asked, “And what’s got you in such a cheery mood?”

Unable to help himself, Jamie replied, with a big smile on his face, “Jenny! She’s no a dream! She’s  _real_.” He was vaguely aware that he likely sounded mad.

“What are ye on about, brother?”

“The woman. She isna some figment of my imagination; she’s real and I’ve met her.”

“You’ve  _met_  her?” she asked in disbelief.

“Aye, I have. Her name is Claire.”

Jenny visibly stiffened. “ _Claire_?”

“Aye, Claire. Is there something wrong with that name?”

“No . . . no, not at all. I’m happy for ye, Jamie.”

Jamie was unconvinced, but he didn’t have time to stay and chat. He had a coffee date to get to. He did, however, make a mental note to question his sister about her strange reaction later.

* * *

 

“So you’re a surgeon?”

“So I am.”

“That’s verra impressive, Sassenach.” And he meant that. He also relished seeing her proud smile at his statement.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I run a wine business with my cousin; I run the Edinburgh office and he the Paris one. Anyone would say Cousin Jared’s the lucky one, getting to live in Paris an’ all, but having lived in Paris myself when I was younger I’d say I’m the lucky one. Edinburgh is much more to my taste, especially since it’s much closer to home.”

“I quite admire that,” Claire admitted, “you wanting to live closer to home—and to your family, I suppose?”

“Aye. My sister Jenny and her husband Ian don’t live far from here. They have a house near the village of Broch Mordha. It’s been in my family for generations. I was supposed to inherit it, but I thought Jenny and Ian should have it instead.”

“Very noble of you.”

“Only fair, what with them having six children and me living alone. That house was too big for me.”

Of course, he had wanted to live there, but not alone. He had wanted to live there with his wife and raise his children there, just as he had been raised there.

It was all too easy to imagine what could have been had he met Claire Randall earlier. If they had married in their twenties and had a family together.

“Why do you live alone?” Claire’s eyes widened, and she rushed to add, “Forgive my asking, I don’t mean to sound judgemental. I can only imagine how many people ask you that, given . . .”

“Given that I’m forty-five, ye mean? That’s all right, Sassenach. I didna take offence. I guess life just turned out that way, ye ken.” Or, as his sister would say, he was too pig-heided for his own good and refused to let go of some fantasy.

“You’re forty-five?” Claire looked somewhat surprised.

He smiled in amusement. “Think I’m old, do ye?”

“Not at all. You look younger, but I imagined you a bit older. Not that it makes a world of difference at this age.”

“I ken it’s supposed to be impolite to ask a woman’s age, but how old are ye, Sassenach? Since you’re the one who brought up the topic in the first place.”

“I’m fifty.” She smiled. “Are you disappointed?”

“I thought ye were about my age, or younger, but as ye say it doesna make a world of difference for people of our age, aye?”

The conversation continued longer than either had expected. At some point they were thrown out of the cafe for sitting there too long and they decided to walk around the area.

“It’s very beautiful here.”

“Inverness?”

“That too, but I meant Scotland. I’ve been here before, more than once. Yet it always astounds me just how magical this place is.” She sighed. “I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t be away from work forever.”

Jamie wanted her to stay longer, too. He wanted her to stay forever. But she had a life elsewhere, and he had to let her go back there at some point. Despite his disappointment, he had decided to relish the time they did have together.

“Do ye come here often, then? To Scotland, I mean.”

Claire smiled wistfully. “When I was little I came with my uncle a few times. He raised me after my parents died. His work as an archaeologist had him travelling a lot and me with him. I . . . married my late husband here.”

“He wasna Scottish, was he?”

“No, English. We had our second honeymoon here twenty years ago . . . that was the last time I was here. We moved to Boston after that so it just wasn’t really convenient to come.”

“But ye came now. What changed?”

“I’m no longer married and no longer in med school. Perhaps I have more freedom . . . though my freedom is not unlimited.”

“When are ye going back . . . back home?”

“On the twenty-first.”

“Five days from now.” Jamie couldn’t hide his disappointment. He had only just found her and now he was going to lose her so soon. But he could not ask her to stay. They barely knew one another and they lived continents apart. “I suppose you’ll be back home just in time for thanksgiving?”

“Y-yes, that’s . . . how did you know that? You’re not American.”

“Neither are you, and yet you celebrate it?”

“My friend Joe invited me for thanksgiving. When in Boston, right? What’s your excuse?”

“It’s hard not to know when thanksgiving is when every store in sight is advertising the upcoming Black Friday, no?”

“Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The evening was cold, and the streets of Inverness bathed in moonlight. It was time to say goodbye and they both knew it. Neither moved.

Finally, “I should—” Claire said.

And at the same time, “I could—” Jamie said.

They laughed.

“What were you going to say?” asked Claire.

“I was only going to ask if I could walk ye back to the bed and breakfast?” He held out his hand. Wordlessly she took it, and they wandered in silence they rest of the way.

Before parting, Jamie impulsively leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek, his hand still in hers. His lips lingered just that bit longer than necessary, and when he looked at her again he wondered whether she was blushing, or if her cheeks were only red from the cold.

* * *

 

Jamie was determined to find out why his sister had had such a strange reaction to Claire’s name. Maybe it was only the shock of finding out Jamie had finally found a woman he was truly interested in, or that his dream was real. But something told him that wasn’t it.

After he got home from spending the day with Claire he went straight to bed with a smile on his face and dreamt of her again. It wasn’t until the next morning he got the chance to confront his sister.

“Jenny, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” he said. He was unsure of how exactly to approach the subject.

Jenny stood elbow-deep in dishwater, scrubbing furiously at a frying pan, muttering, “If Wee Ian’s going to start cooking he better start cleaning up after himself as well.” She turned around to face Jamie. “What about yesterday? How was your date?”

“It was good.”  _Good?_ Good did not do the day justice. Ordinary as the date had seemed, he had never felt so alive as he did in Claire’s company. “What I was wonderin’ . . . well, ye had quite an  _unusual_ reaction to hearing Claire’s name.”

“Did I?”

“Aye, ye did. Ye definitely recognised it. I ken it’s no an unusual name, but ye reacted to it . . . only I canna remember ever knowing any Claires myself.

“No, ye have it wrong, brother. ’Tis I that hasna known a Claire,  _you_ have—or at least I’d assume so seeing as that is the name ye used to call out in yer sleep twenty years ago.”


	4. Eye of the Hurricane

**November 17, 2017**

_That is the name ye used to call out in yer sleep twenty years ago._

Jenny’s words played on an endless loop in his head, and no power of mind could turn it off.

He had asked what she meant, but she’d simply answered, “Just what I said, brother. Ye’d call out the name Claire in yer sleep. Mumble it sometimes. Ye said no more than that, just the name. Not every night, but often enough.”

Then the front door had opened and Jenny had vanished from the kitchen faster than Jamie could blink. He heard his sister chastising Wee Ian for leaving without saying where, and Wee Ian trying to defend himself in vain. A day like any other.

Aye, for the Murrays perhaps, but for this Fraser, his world had been turned upside down and inside out in a matter of days. He’d literally met the woman of his dreams, only to realise he would lose her before the week’s over. He’d found out that not only does this amazing woman have an uncanny likeness to the one he’s dreamt of for twenty years, but he also used to call out her name in his sleep twenty years ago. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now. Jamie and Claire had met before.

* * *

“Claire.”

“Jamie.”

He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he spoke to her. He thought she was smiling, too, but it was hard to tell over the phone.

“I want to see you,” she said. “I know I have to go back to Boston soon, but I really enjoyed yesterday and I want to see you again before I leave . . . that is, if you want to see me.”

“Yes!” he answered almost too quickly. To be fair, what did it matter if he sounded over-excited? _She_ had called him, and _she_ had asked to see him.

“Good.” This time he could definitely hear the smile in her voice. “Will you meet me in Inverness again?”

“Aye, I’m getting in the car as we speak. I’ll be there in seconds.”

She laughed. “Seconds, huh? Are you planning on defying the laws of speed? I’d like to see that—actually, no I wouldn’t. Don’t speed, Jamie. Don’t end up in a car accident.”

“ _If_ I did, it’s a good thing I’ve a doctor waiting for me that can patch me up again.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Dinna fash, I won’t speed. I’ll see ye soon, Sassenach.”

Jamie felt very much like a teenager with a crush, as he couldn’t get to his car fast enough. He only had today, and possibly—hopefully—three days more and then it would be the twenty-first and Claire would be gone. Gone too soon, separated by continents . . . he didn’t know how he would be able to bear it, despite the fact that they’d known each other not even a full week.

When Jamie arrived at the bed and breakfast, Claire was already waiting. Her smile widened when she saw him.

“What’s on the schedule today, Mr Fraser?”

“Weel, I thought we could walk around, see Inverness—we could do whatever you want really, this is your holiday, after all. But I made us a reservation at a nice restaurant for tonight—I hope ye dinna mind.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.”

* * *

It was the way her lips curved into a delighted smile as he ordered their drinks. (He’d suggested wine—he did run a wine business after all—but she’d insisted on whiskey. Naturally, she got her way—if only for that smile.)

It was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her work. Jamie didn’t understand it all—his knowledge of medicine didn’t stretch much further than what he’d learnt in school—but he listened, fascinated by her expertise and enthusiasm.

It was the way her hand felt in his—warm and smooth, as he’d known it would be. She had long, graceful fingers. He noticed her little finger was crooked. He ran his thumb over that finger, cherishing her imperfections—slight as they may be. His thumb traced the valley between her little finger and ring finger. Unlike her left, this hand bore no ring— _yet_ , he couldn’t help but think.

It was the way even the silence between them was loud for Jamie could hear his heart beating furiously in his chest.

And Jamie knew. He _knew_ they had met before, he just didn’t know when, or how. He wondered whether Claire knew, or at least suspected it. Had she approached him at the exhibition because she recognised him?

He had so many questions, but none he could share with Claire. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d dreamt of her for years, that he’d even called out her name. The last thing Jamie wanted was for Claire to find him _creepy_.

So Jamie said nothing, save asking for the bill. And then they were outside, walking towards the bed and breakfast.

Suddenly something cold and wet hit the back of Jamie’s neck. He turned around at the sound of Claire’s giggle, one eyebrow raised.

“Really? Ye want to play dirty, is that it?”

He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he threw a snowball that hit the top of her head which was, luckily for her, covered by a hat.

“Ha!” she said, delighted that his snowball had done minimal damage.

Jamie took a step towards her and before she could blink he had tugged the hat off her head and replaced it with a soft, though still wet and cold, snowball.

She shrieked.

“ _JAMIE_!”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at her, for she looked adorable. Her nose and cheeks were red, and her hair was a mess of snow-powdered curls. He snapped a mental photograph of this moment, committing it to memory, because what if this was the only winter he’d ever spend with Claire Randall.

He tried not to think along those lines, tried to enjoy this moment that he did have with her, before she slipped through his fingers. She had entered his life like a hurricane, her violent storm disrupting everything he knew of himself and his heart. But calmly she would leave him; like a breeze, leaving only in her wake a faint herbal scent and memories of whiskey eyes.

When she was gone, was he then destined to wonder once more whether she had been real or only a figment of his imagination?

Lost to his depressing thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Claire preparing her revenge. A snowball hit the side of his head.

“Now we’re even, you bloody Scot!”

“Aye, that’s fair. Come here, Sassenach.” Jamie held up his empty hands. “I’m not going to throw another snowball, I promise.”

Warily, she followed his order. Stood right in front of him, she looked up, her eyes narrowed.

He tried his best to dust the snow from her curls and then put her hat back on.

“I was wondering if I’d ever see that hat again. I thought you were maybe keeping it hostage, waiting until I had something you wanted and would then exchange it.”

“Maybe I just wanted something to remember ye by?”

“I don’t know if hats make for good mementos, but if you want something to remember me by . . .”

She stood on tiptoes, and Jamie tilted his head down to meet her, his body responding before his mind had a chance to catch up with what she was doing. Then she pressed her lips to his, softly, and he thought if their relationship had started with a storm, perhaps this was the eye of the hurricane. When together, there was a calm. When together, their hearts beat as one.


	5. Days of Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments I’ve received ♥ It makes me so happy that there are people enjoying this story!

**November 18, 2017**

“I’d like to take ye somewhere special,” said Jamie, biting his bottom lip. He had debated whether this was a good idea. The arguments  _for_ were certainly not as strong as those  _against_  the idea. Claire would leave soon. He might not see her for a very long time. She might not want to see him again after this trip.

_And yet_  . . . yet, he wanted so badly for her to see the place most dear to him.

“To Lallybroch, to see my sister and brother-in-law . . . I hope ye dinna mind.”

Claire’s smile faltered. “Oh . . .”

Jamie’s stomach clenched. He’d hoped she would be excited to see where he grew up, but—

“Jamie,” she said, softly. She lay a hand on his shoulder, stroking him with her thumb. “Its not that I don’t want to see it—see them, it’s just . . . I’m  _nervous_ ,is all.”

“So you—?”

“I’d love to meet your family, Jamie,” she assured him. He did feel assured, too, for that woman couldn’t lie easily. He supposed that was one of the things that attracted him to her; she was honest and direct.

“Ye dinna have to be nervous, Sassenach. They will love you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I ken them, and I ken  _you_ , and I ken that they’ll love ye just as—as they should.” He took both her hands in his. “Sassenach, I ken we’ve known each other only a few days, so ye canna tell the difference between what I’m like wi’ you and what I’m like without, but Jenny can. I smile more since I met ye, or so my sister informs me. And Jenny would have nothing bad to say of a woman that makes her brother happy.”

* * *

When they stepped out of the car, Claire took Jamie’s hand. He looked at her and smiled reassuringly, squeezing her hand, wordlessly telling her it would be all right.

“Uncle Jamie!” They both turned. “And you must be Auntie Claire.”

Claire turned back to Jamie, confused.

“Ah, this is my nephew Ian,” he explained. “And this is Claire, my . . . friend.”

Ian grinned at Claire. “He hasena stopped talking about ye since ye met—ow!”

“Jamie, don’t hit teenage boys you disagree with!”

“You should listen to yer girlfriend.”

“I didna hit him hard—I  _didn’t_ ,” he insisted, seeing Claire’s look.

“Dinna fash, Auntie. I can handle a wee tap.”

“Why don’t ye go fetch yer mam and da?”

As she watched Young Ian disappear into the house, Claire leaned over and murmured, “He does know we’re not, you know,  _married_?”

Jamie grasped her ring-less right hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Aye.”  _But we could be_.

* * *

Claire, who had been very tense when they arrived, relaxed more and more throughout the day.

Jenny showed her around the house and told her stories of a young Jamie—“When he was eight he used to sing in the shower. ’Twas the worst part of our morning!  He’s tone deaf, ken? Well, he wasna always, but he was never a good singer to begin with.”—and Jamie watched with a smile on his face.

He had been nervous, too, he realised; he had wanted so badly for Claire to like Lallybroch, to feel at home in the place that had been his home for so many years.

“Seems ye didna need our help after all,” said Ian.

Jamie smiled wistfully, eyes still on Claire. “She’s no staying.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s going back to Boston soon. I dinna ken when I’ll see her again after that.”

“Oh, Jamie.”

Jamie could hear Ian’s unspoken question loud an clear: “Why would you get involved with a woman who’s leaving?” Why indeed? Jamie had been wondering since the moment he found out, but he couldn’t help himself. After their first date, he couldn’t stay away from her, even if it would break his heart when she left.

The rest of the day flew by in a pleasant fashion. There was good conversation and laughter in abundance. Jamie was certain this was a page ripped out of a fairy tale.

It felt as though Claire had been part of the family for years, and Jamie completely forgot about her initial tension. That is, until they retreated to the guest bedroom.

“Are we . . . we’re . . . sharing a bed?” asked Claire.

“I—Jenny probably assumed—if ye mind I can—”

“No. No, it’s fine, Jamie.”

“Are ye sure? Because there are other guest rooms and I could sleep in there if ye dinna wish to share a bed.”

Claire placed her hands on his shoulders, looking at him intently. “It’s  _fine_ , Jamie. Really.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Jamie breathed out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t given a single though to sleeping arrangements, and having Claire remark on the shared bed, well . . . for a moment he’d worried she wouldn’t want him in her bed, and after the wonderful day they’d had, he couldn’t imagine not going to bed with her.

But Jamie didn’t have to worry; he would sleep soundly next to the woman he loved.

* * *

**November 19, 2017**

Waking up together for the first time was about as awkward as going to bed together the night before.

Jamie had barely slept, too aware of sleeping next to someone else for the first time in years. He’d been careful not to touch her, not knowing whether she’d welcome his touch. He’d ended up in a stiff position, arms glued to his sides, nearly falling off the bed in an attempt to put space between them.

It wasn’t that Jamie didn’t  _want_ to gather Claire in his arms and keep her there through the night, only that they hadn’t spoken of it. Truth to be told, Jamie was terrified of pushing too far and scaring her away so soon.

But Jamie didn’t know if he could take one more night like this one. He needed to discuss this with Claire before the day was done.

“Sassenach—”

He didn’t get further before he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Best get dressed if ye arena already. Yer nephew is here,” said Jenny.

“I thought your nephew was here already?” asked Claire.

“Aye well, I’ve more than one nephew. I suspect it’s the eldest, Wee Jamie, that’s visiting today.”

Claire smiled. “Wee Jamie? Named after you, was he?”

“Aye, he was. Come on, Sassenach, best get dressed then before Jenny returns to see what’s taking so long. She might  _assume_ things.”

It was Jamie the Younger that had come to visit, and with him his three sons and daughter.

It warmed Jamie’s heart seeing Claire with Young Jamie’s youngest on her knee, playing Ten Little Piggies with his toes.

“You’re verra good wi’ children, Claire,” said Jenny. “Do ye have younger siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child.”

“Ye look good wi’ a wean in yer arms. Did ye ever think of having children of your own?”

Claire looked up, her expression unreadable, but her shoulders were tense. “I suppose all women do at some point.” Her fingers unconsciously sought out her wedding ring, tracing its shape. “But then you never know what comes of that thought.” 

* * *

That night Jamie found Claire sitting by the window, shoulders hunched. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong, Sassenach?”

She turned away from him slightly, hiding her tears.

Jamie sat down behind her and gently pulled her into a hug. God, to see her sad, not knowing the cause of it . . . wondering if  _he_ was the cause of it . . .

“ _Mo chridhe_ ,” he murmured. “Claire, what has ye so upset?”  _Please, talk to me_.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I was just . . . overwhelmed, is all. This place—Lallybroch, it’s so beautiful . . . more than that, it’s  _homely_. And seeing you here with your lovely family . . .” She let out a breath. “ _Oh, Jamie_.”

Jamie let his hand stroke her arm up and down, hoping to give her some comfort.

“Is it . . . your parents?” he asked. “Because they died when you were so young?”

“No. No, it’s not them. It’s  _you_.”

“Me?”

“ _Yes_. Seeing you here—you belong. You wanted this life here, a family . . . a-and I realised I wanted this too—w-with  _you_. And I feel cheated of twenty years we could’ve had together, had a family together, woken up in that bed together.”

Her hand grasped his tightly. “God, it feels silly to say out loud. I’ve not had a bad life in Boston, a-and maybe I was wrong in assuming you want those things. Worst of all, we’ve known each other all of  _five days_! What am I doing blabbering on about all this like some—”

“ _Shh_.” Jamie placed a hand on her mouth. “Claire, you’re not being silly. I feel cheated, too. You’re right that I wanted children and that I wanted to raise them here, but even though I regret not meeting you sooner, I thank God I met you at all. I’ll take twenty years, a week, or only five days. But to never have known you . . . I canna bear the thought of it.”

“You really mean that,” she whispered.

Though it wasn’t a question, he replied, “Aye, Sassenach, I do,” because he wanted there to be no doubt in her mind.

Finally, she relaxed in his embrace, melting into him. She sighed contentedly. Now Jamie dared nuzzle her hair, it was soft and smelt lovely.

“I’m pretty grateful too,” she said.

“Mm? I’m glad.”

“For many things,” she elaborated, “for the pudding,”—Jamie chuckled—“for a bed that doesn’t have those weird, uncomfortable pillows the B & B has,”—he kissed her ear, making her smile—“for you tickling my ear,”—brushing her hair back, he started kissing his way down her neck—“f-for that.”

Her hand took hold of Jamie’s and moved it up to her breast, her head simultaneously lolling back against his shoulder. He massaged her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple though the fabric of her blouse. Encouraged by her soft sighs, Jamie let his other hand slip inside her trousers.

She gasped and he smiled into her hair.

Jamie remembered he’d vowed to not relive the awkwardness of the night before. He withdrew his hand and stood up. Taking Claire’s hand, he pulled her up, into his arms. Tonight they would go to bed  _together_.

* * *

**November 20, 2017**

If there was one moment that would cement itself in Jamie’s mind forever, it was waking up to the sound of Claire’s soft snoring and her curls tickling his nose. His arm was numb, and he was so hot he thought he might die—they’d slept under the covers, Claire pressed up against him. Additionally, he needed to pee.

Jamie didn’t move. Discomfort notwithstanding, he was happy and he wanted to savour this moment.

As his free hand tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her snoring stopped. For a moment Jamie thought he’d woken her up, but her eyes remained closed.

She looked happy, relaxed.  _Aye, Sassenach_ , he thought,  _I’m happy, too_.


	6. Thoughts of You

**November 21, 2017**

How do you say goodbye . . . even temporarily? Even if it was a “Goodbye for now, but we’ll see each other again.” How do you say goodbye?

How do you say it with words? “Goodbye” was too final. “I’ll miss you” was a promise that couldn’t fully encompass how he felt. “I love you” was truthful—was the only thing that perfectly articulated his feelings, yet the only thing he couldn’t say to her.

How do you say it with actions? Hugging? Kissing? Breathing in her scent? Memorising each and every freckle, the way her lips curved into a smile, and the exact shade of her hair?

How do you say goodbye when all you want to do is get down on your knees and beg her to stay?

Jamie had never said goodbye before. He’d lost his father, his mother, his brother . . . but they were ripped from him before he had a chance to decide what his parting words would be. He didn’t get to say goodbye before they were gone.

How would he say goodbye?

Saying farewell at an airport had a feeling of finality that saying farewell at, say, a train station or a bus stop didn’t have. Perhaps it was the knowledge of a greater distance that would lie between them. The Atlantic.

When the time came to part, Jamie didn’t say goodbye. He kissed her, then hugged her hard. He breathed in her scent. He memorised each and every freckle and the exact shade of her hair. He laughed when she admitted that she’d bought a Clan Fraser keychain in the tax free shop.

And then she was gone.

* * *

 

**November 23, 2017**

On November twenty-third, Jamie thought of Claire. Of course, he thought of her every day. Sometimes he looked through those mental photographs he took of her; what she’d looked like before they kissed in the snow, and what she’d looked like afterwards, blushing prettily. How she’d said his lips where cold before kissing him again.

Today he remembered their first date. “I suppose you’ll be back home just in time for thanksgiving?” he’d said then. Much to his disappointment he’d realised she would leave Scotland soon. And then she’d left. And today was thanksgiving. And so naturally, he thought of her.

Apparently she thought of him too, for she rang him late that night (afternoon for her, he supposed).

“Thanksgiving with yer friends that boring?”

“ _Dreadful!_ No, it’s really lovely, it’s just I . . .” she hesitated. “I thought of you today.”

He was undeniably pleased to hear that. Especially since he had thought of her, too—every moment since she left. Granted, she had left only two days ago, but it felt . . . longer.

“Must’ve been the thanksgiving decorations, I think. They’re quite orange—reminded me of your hair.”

“I hope ye mean that favourably, Sassenach.”

“Oh, certainly. I wouldn’t dare criticise your hair, my lad. You are far too handsome for that.”

“Time away from me has already started to blur your memory it seems.”

Claire was quiet for a moment, but then replied, “I can assure you my memory is perfectly fine. I’m not so old yet.” Her tone was joking, but she sounded odd, distracted.

“Sassenach, if ye need to get back to the celebrations . . .”

“No, no I just . . . sorry, I was distracted, but I don’t . . . I don’t want to hang up.”

“Oh, good. Neither do I.”

“I miss you, Jamie.”

“I miss you too, Claire.” _And you don’t know just how much, mo chridhe._

* * *

**November 26, 2017**

“Uncle Jamie?” Young Ian hesitated before sitting down next to Jamie. Jamie didn’t look up. “They’re playing Scrabble in the other room—well actually, they’re searching for a missing Scrabble piece. I think wee Benjamin might’ve eaten it.”

Ian looked over at his unresponsive uncle, eyebrows furrowed.

“She’ll no be gone forever, Uncle.”

“Ye dinna ken that.”

“You dinna ken she’s in love wi’ ye. She’ll come back.”

“How?”

“She’ll fly across the ocean, like a faerie—she does look a bit like a faerie.”

Jamie sighed. “That’s no what I meant, Ian. I meant, how could she leave her life to come . . . here, to me? What could I possibly offer?”

_Love_.

“Ye better figure that out soon before ye brood yourself to death—or before Mam tries to set ye up wi’ someone else again. She might invite some candidates to the grand celebration on December 16th.”

Now Jamie finally looked up. “Why, what’s December 16th?”

“It’s Mam and Da’s some-metal-or-other wedding anniversary. Maybe ye should invite Claire to that!”

“Aye, maybe . . .”

Could he? Would she come if he asked? He wanted her to come, badly.

_God_ , how he missed her, his Claire . . . was she? His? He was hers—that much, he was certain of. He hoped she was his. It didn’t seem fair that she should steal his heart away without giving him hers in return.

He wondered (how could he not?) if there was a future for them.

Could he move to Boston and build a life with her there? It was so far away from his family—his dear sister, his brother-in-law who was also his closest friend, his nephew that he loved like a son. Could he leave them behind for a woman? _Not just any woman—Claire._

What about work? His work was in Edinburgh, could he leave it? What would he do for a living in Boston?

Jamie couldn’t deny that moving to Boston wasn’t something wanted to do. Could Claire move to Edinburgh and build a life with him there? Would she want to be uprooted from her life, leave her friends behind? Surely she could get a job at a hospital in Edinburgh . . . but would she want to leave her colleagues? Would the pay be the same? Did that matter to her? Claire had said she grew up all over the world. Maybe now she had finally found a _home_ in Boston. Would it really be right to ask her to leave it?

Apparently age did matter when it came to love. People that met when they were young hadn’t had time beforehand to build a life for themselves apart, before considering building one together.

At this age, fitting all the puzzle pieces together proved more difficult than he’d ever imagined.

Claire’s words rung in his ears, _I feel cheated of twenty years we could’ve had together._ Could they really have had that?


	7. The Day Before...

**February 19, 1997**

I got out of the car, immediately surveying my surroundings. There was a light dusting of snow covering the streets—that was to be expected, it was February after all. Dark clouds were looming overhead—that was to be expected, too, we were in Scotland after all.

“What do you say, will it do?” Frank’s head popped out from the boot to hand me my suitcase.

“I think it’ll do just fine. The weather will be dreadful, of course, but we hardly came to sunbathe, did we?” Rather the opposite, actually. We would likely find ourselves shut indoors with a few dozen old documents and pile upon pile of history books for company. My hope was that I could persuade my husband to spend less time with his dead ancestors, and more time beneath the covers, helping me stay warm during our cold, Scottish holiday.

“Dare I suggest we spent the first day locked in our room?” I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling, but I told Reverend Wakefield we’d be there for tea.”

That didn’t surprise me in the slightest. “Of course, darling.”

I wondered how _I_ would spend this holiday, if Frank was to spend his time with the Reverend and those bloody history books. Had it been summer, I might’ve liked spending time outdoors, looking for specimens—I’d recently become interested in botany.

But since it was February, a cup of tea and a good book would have to do. At least until Frank realised we were on this holiday _together_.

* * *

**February 20, 1997**

Whilst Frank was busy with his research, I pottered around the town. I looked in a couple of gift shops, but found nothing particularly interesting. I found a second-hand bookshop that was a great deal more charming than your average Waterstones. I ended up buying nothing.

Finally, I found myself in front of a shop window, gazing at a blue ceramic vase. It was a beautiful thing—tall, with a flower pattern. I wondered how it would look if I put daisies in it.

I didn’t realise how long I stood there until a voice spoke behind me. “Ye’ve been staring at that for some time, lass. Are ye going to buy it?”

I turned around to see a tall, friendly-looking man with a pram. He seemed amused by my indecision.

“No. I was just admiring it.” I had thought of buying it, though, having never owned a vase in my life.

“Maybe ye should. It held yer attention for quite some time.” He gave me a smile that reached his warm brown eyes.

“Is that your daughter?” I asked, diverting the attention from my potential purchase. “She’s beautiful.”

“Aye. Katherine—Kitty, we call her.”

“Hello Kitty,” I said, smiling at the sweet baby in the pram. My heart ached seeing the little girl’s delighted smile back. I had long wanted a child of my own, but it just hadn’t happened.

At first I had assumed I simply needed to be patient, but after years of trying I doubted motherhood was in the cards for me. Though I didn’t consider myself particularly religious, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some divine plan behind it. Because I had grown up without a mother, maybe someone—or something—had determined that I was unfit to become a mother myself.

I glanced at the vase again. Maybe someday I would come back for it. If ever I have a child, I though, then I’ll come back for it.

* * *

**February 25, 1997**

It was one of those unpleasantly polite days. Neither of us said anything mean, belittling or rude. But there was something in the air; I could feel it, like a bomb was about to explode.

_The calm before the storm_ —that’s what they called it. And it was calm—too bloody calm, if you asked me. Quiet, in fact. Solitary.

I didn’t mind being alone. Having grown up without firm ties to any place, having had only one constant in my life—my uncle—I was used to being on my own.

That didn’t mean there weren’t times when I very much did mind being alone. One of those instances was a second honeymoon with my husband. I had _thought_ he intended to spend it with me, but it would appear he did not.

That’s how I found myself, out of patience, putting aside the book I’d been reading with an annoyed huff. “Darling,” I said as sweetly as I could muster.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his research.

“Maybe we could go out for a bite?”

“It’s early for supper,” he murmured.

“You’ve been doing that all day, don’t you want a break?”

“Sorry, darling, I’m reading something particularly interesting at the moment.”

“Aren’t you always?” Perhaps I should’ve stopped there, but I still had things to say. “It’s been a week, for God’s sake! Were you planning on spending _any_ time with me? Why don’t you marry the Reverend?”

Now I had his attention.

“You didn’t come here to spend time with me, did you? You’ll complain endlessly about my going to med school and how time consuming it is. You’ll complain about that, but when we’re on holiday, away from work and school, you _barely_ spend time with me!”

I took a deep breath. “I came here to be with _you_ , but you came to be with the Reverend and—and—Jonathan _fucking_ Randall. Can you believe it?” I threw up my hands. “I’ve lost to the ghost of a man you never even knew.”

“Now Claire,” said Frank, as though he was addressing one of his misbehaving students, “I made my intentions with coming here very clear from the beginning.”

“Then why did you bring me along? If you’re not interested in spending our precious time away from work together, then what am I doing here? What are we even doing together? Are you sure you want to stay married to me?”

He actually laughed at that. “You can’t be saying we should get divorced because you feel a bit neglected on this one trip.”

“It’s not just this though, is it? It’s everything. My inability to have children—I know it bothers you.” I had repeatedly suggested adoption, but Frank didn’t want that. “My going to medical school. What haven’t we fought about?

“I ask you again, are you sure you want to stay married to me—be with me for the rest of your life? Because, Frank, right now it doesn’t seem so.”

* * *

**November 27, 2017**

Jamie and Claire had talked every day since she left; if they hadn’t spoken on the phone, at least they had texted. Jamie was always happy to talk to Claire, but this day he was doubly so for he rang with good news. (He hoped they were indeed good.)

“Jam—” she began, but he cut her off faster than lightning.

“Sassenach! My sister Jenny and her Ian have been married twenty-five years this December. They’re having a celebration at Lallybroch and I wondered would ye . . . would ye be my date.”

“Jamie, that sounds wonderful! But are you sure your sister wouldn’t mind? She’s only met me once.”

“Dinna fash, she’d love for ye to come. So is that a yes, then?”

“It’s an ‘if I can get away from work then yes, absolutely yes.’”

Jamie could barely contain his excitement. He would see Claire again, sooner than he’d expected, and at Lallybroch!

“There’s just one other thing,” Claire said. She sounded nervous. “Could I bring someone?”

_Bring someone?_ A friend? People didn’t bring friends to such occasions. They brought significant others. But surely not . . . surely she wouldn’t . . .

And she wouldn’t, for she said, “My daughter,” and Jamie thought he might faint.


	8. Anniversary of Silver

**December 16, 2017**

A ghost, that was what people said. They’d seen a ghost walking among them. Jamie didn’t know what to make of that. A ghost? That was absolutely ridiculous! _What_ were people talking about?

It wasn’t until Jamie saw _her_ that the pieces fell into place, thought it still left him equally as confused as before—maybe more so.

* * *

It was the day of Jenny and Ian’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The celebration was held at Lallybroch. Jamie had greatly been looking forward to this day, for today he would see Claire again.

However, delighted as he was about seeing her again, he did have a bone to pick with her.

Jamie didn’t know what he’d been expecting when Claire walked in the room. His mind was unable to settle on a single emotion that felt appropriate for this situation.

When Claire had told him she had a daughter, he’d been surprised—to put it mildly. Scrutinising every conversation they’d had, he couldn’t find a single reference to a child. Hence _surprise_ was certainly in his potpourri of emotions currently felt. _Disappointment_ was there, too. Furthermore, there was _confusion_ , _curiosity_ , and even _apprehension_.

When Claire entered, joining his other emotions were _awe_ and _relief_ —relief that she seemed unchanged. In his mind she had changed since her revelation; he’d thought of her differently. But as she now stood before him, she was as he remembered.

And she was beautiful, so beautiful as to take his breath away.

When Claire’s eyes met his, a smile broke out on her face. “Jamie! I’m so happy to see you.” She took a tentative step towards him, as though unsure if she should kiss him or shake his hand. In the end, Jamie drew her close and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ve missed ye, Sassenach,” he whispered.

They stood there for an eternity, revelling in that serenity only felt when they were together. _The eye of the hurricane_ he’d called it. She was his hurricane still; Hurricane Claire, sweeping him off his feet, blowing all sense away.

They stood there until someone cleared their throat. Jamie reluctantly let go of Claire and turned to the interrupter. It was a young woman, tall and beautiful. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked at Claire, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I’m so sorry,” said Claire. She turned to the young woman. “This is Jamie Fraser”—she turned back to him—“and Jamie, this is my daughter Brianna.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Brianna. She offered Jamie her hand, which he shook, albeit stiffly. His mind had momentarily forgotten this daughter of Claire’s, and now, presented with the very girl . . . he didn’t quite know what to say.

“Aye, nice to meet ye, too . . . Brianna.”

A ghost, that was what people said. They’d seen a ghost walking among them. Seeing her— _Brianna_ —he understood. With her red hair and impressive height she had an eerie resemblance to Ellen MacKenzie, his mother.

* * *

“ _That_ is Claire’s daughter? Brother . . .” Jenny shook her head. “Is there . . . something ye havena told me?”

“The lass might have a slight resemblance to our mother, but—”

“ _Slight_? That lass is definitely a MacKenzie,” said Murtagh. He had come to Lallybroch for Jenny and Ian’s anniversary, and Jamie, who hadn’t seen his godfather in a long time, had been excited about being able to introduce Claire to him. He hadn’t expected this strange situation, though.

“Maybe the lass’s father was a MacKenzie, or her grandfather,” Ian suggested.

Jamie shook his head. He remembered the conversation he’d had with Claire on their first date.

_“I . . . married my late husband here.”_

_“He wasna Scottish, was he?”_

_“No, English.”_

Claire’s late husband had certainly not been a MacKenzie. Of course, just because he’d been English didn’t mean he couldn’t have had Scottish ancestors or even parents.

Jamie took a deep breath. He felt he was going mad trying to figure out what made Claire’s daughter resemble his mother so much—or, truthfully, trying to find a reason that eased his mind more than what his sister had suggested.  _That_ idea had certainly entered his mind, but he didn’t want to entertain it. And yet, thinking back to that conversation with Claire about her late husband, he remembered something else she’d said . . .

_That_ idea had certainly entered his mind, but he didn’t want to entertain it. And yet, thinking back to that conversation with Claire about her late husband, he remembered something else she’d said . . .

_“We had our second honeymoon here twenty years ago . . . that was the last time I was here. We moved to Boston after that so it just wasn’t really convenient to come.”_

Claire had been here—not just in Scotland, but _here_ —twenty years ago. _“I feel cheated of twenty years we could’ve had together.”—_

Before his brain exploded with all these questions, he needed to speak to the one person who knew the answers. He needed to find Claire.

* * *

Finding Claire was one thing. Getting her alone was another. He tried to get her away to somewhere they could speak privately, but he got the sense she didn’t want to be alone with him, constantly making up excuses not to follow him.

Finally, she was out of excuses, and for the first time that evening, they were alone.

Jamie turned to Claire. He noticed her eyes were fixed on her clasped hands. Her left thumb was absentmindedly stroking her right.

“Why, Claire?”

She didn’t reply.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She met his eyes then.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice wavering. She took a deep breath. “I . . . when we met at the exhibition I knew we had little time because I had to go back to Boston soon, so I didn’t think it necessary to bring up the subject of children—”

“Not _necessary_?! Claire, we were getting to know one another and you left out a huge portion of your life!”

“Jamie, just listen, please,” she pleaded. “It’s complicated, all right? Bringing it up then would have sparked a whole other complicated conversation and I . . . I wasn’t ready.”

He took a steadying breath. “Claire,” he said, “why didn't you tell me about her?”

She looked up at him in confusion. “I told you I—”

“No, Claire, why didn’t you tell me about her years ago? Why didn’t you tell me she’s mine?”

She swallowed, eyes darting away from his.

“I didn’t know.”


	9. ... The Night We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone, I suck at updating my stories. Funnily enough this was the very first chapter I wrote for the story, but it needed some tweaking before I could post it.
> 
> Also, if you want to keep up with the timeline without having to go back to each individual chapter you can check out my new masterlist/fic page here: [caitbalfes.tumblr.com/fics](http://caitbalfes.tumblr.com/fics) (the page is still a wip, but you can at least see the timeline for HWWFSG)

**February 25, 1997**

He had been watching her for some time—ever since she stormed into the pub, nose red from the cold (it made her look all the more endearing.) She’d sunk down on a bar stool and pulled off her hat, causing her curly hair to stand on end.

He had tried his best not to look at her. Her demeanour was in no way inviting. (If he squinted he could almost see the steel armour she wore to protect herself from unwelcome attention.) Jamie wasn’t so foolish as to try and break through that wall, nor was he so disrespectful.

Yet, he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, he felt inexplicably drawn to her. He wanted to talk to her, he _really_ did, but he didn’t want to disturb her.

An hour went by. The woman hadn’t moved, and neither had he. She’d had a few drinks, as had he.

Eventually, people started to leave. His sister and Ian left first; they had Wee Jamie to get home to. The rest left one by one—or two by two—until only Jamie was left. He was about to leave himself, when he heard someone sniffling.

Instinctively, he turned towards the sound. It was _her_.

He thought at first it might have been the cold that made her sniffle, but he noticed the sadness in her eyes. Gingerly he laid a hand upon her shoulder, asking, “Are ye all right?”

She turned around, facing him. She regarded him for a moment. Then, “No. But I will be.” She lifted her glass to indicate her chosen remedy.

“Whiskey is comfort for your mind, but no for yer heart.”

“And how would _you_ know what ails me, _Mister_?”

“I can see it in yer eyes, Sassenach.” He really could. Her face was exceptionally easy to read, and heartache was written across it.

She pursed her lips. “I know what that means, you know. _Sashenack_ —that’s not a very nice word to use. Is that how you comfort women? Then I think I’ll stick to the whiskey.” She took a long sip, then looked up at him with a defiant smile, like a naughty child doing something she knew she shouldn’t.

“I didna mean it as something offensive, lass.” He hoped she realised how genuinely he meant it.

“Well, it really doesn’t matter how you meant it, my lad. You’re not seducing me tonight, so you can leave. It’s no use trying. I’m not having sex with you,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

His jaw dropped. “I-I— _what_?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you tonight—or any night.”

“Aye, I heard ye, Sassenach. I just wasna sure I was hearing correctly seeing as I canna remember propositioning you, or saying anything to that effect.”

“You didn’t _yet_ , but I know what most men do. They walk up to the sad, lonely woman at the bar. They compliment and comfort her, they offer to take her home, and then they think themselves entitled to a reward of their choice—and that’s always sex.”

“Perhaps I am pretentious in saying so, but I would like to think that I am not like most men, and that I dinna necessarily place my behaviour at the lowest common denominator.”

She laughed, genuinely. “ _Very_ pretentious, but I kind of like you. Have a drink with me?”

“I dinna ken, Sassenach,” he teased, “yer no planning to take advantage of my vulnerable state?”

“ _Your_ vulnerable state?”

“Aye, this lass bruised my ego when she mistook me for the vile sort of man that would take advantage of a bonnie lass—”

She swatted his arm. “ _Stop it_ ,” she giggled.

Jamie took a seat next to her and ordered another drink for himself.

“I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“Claire.”

* * *

“Should I walk ye home—or to wherever you’re staying?” he asked, partly because he wanted to see her home safe, and partly because he wanted to spend more time with her.

“No,” she said, insistently, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go back there.”

Jamie unconsciously clenched his fists. What awaited her “back there”? She’d been heartbroken when they’d met earlier that night, and she’d been drinking to soothe the ache. They’d spoken about a number of things, but Claire hadn’t revealed just what—or _who_ had caused her broken heart. Hence, Jamie was weary. Her reluctance to go home had him worried an abusive boyfriend or something of the like was what awaited her.

“All right, lass. You can come wi’ me to my hotel room. You can take the bed.” He was in town for a friend’s engagement party. Normally he would’ve stayed with Jenny and Ian at Lallybroch, but they were renovating an old part of the house, and they also had a newborn baby, so Jamie was staying at a hotel in Inverness instead.

Claire took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently, smiling at him. “Thank you, Jamie.”

* * *

It was a short distance from the pub to the hotel, so Jamie and Claire walked the entire way. Claire hadn’t let go of his hand—which was probably a good thing, as her balance wasn’t great.

It wasn’t until they entered Jamie’s room that she released his hand, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Jamie . . .”

“Aye?”

She stood on tiptoes, her arm snaking around his neck, and placed her mouth on his, not quite kissing as much as breathing him in.

Alarm bells went off in Jamie’s head. This was _very, very bad_. And yet he didn’t pull back, couldn’t bring himself to.

Her lips moved against his experimentally, and his couldn’t help but respond. His hands found her waist to hold her to him. She felt small and fragile—and warm, and soft, and just _right_ in his arms.

Claire brought her other hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer. He ran his hands down her hips, feeling her soft curves. _God_.

Her lips were demanding, her body enticing, and he was _intoxicated_ , drunk on her—

Then he remembered.

And before he stepped off the edge and flung himself into the abyss, he tore his mouth from hers. “I thought ye said ye wouldna have sex wi’ me tonight—or any night.”

“That was before I knew you,” she said, running her hands through his hair.

“But—” Her lips chased his in an attempt to shut him up, but he took hold of her shoulders to force her back. “No,” he said. “We’re drunk.”

“It’s all right,” she said with conviction. “I believed you when you said you weren’t like most men, but now—now I’m _asking_ you. Can’t you see that? Jamie, I’m asking you to fuck me.”

“Claire, I _can’t_.”

She took hold of his hand and pulled the reluctant limb from her shoulder and placed it on her arse. She looked at him intently, biting her lip.

_A Dhia!_

She was truly the most alluring woman he’d met, and _God_ how he wanted her, he was achingly hard with it, but—

He smelt the whiskey on her breath and saw its effect in the gleam of her eyes. He wanted her badly, but more than anything he wanted to do right by her.

“Claire, you know we canna. Neither of us would feel right about it in the morning. You’re drunk, heartbroken . . . and ye came here to _sleep_ , aye?”

Her giddiness was replaced by reluctant acceptance in an instant. She nodded tiredly. “You’re right. Take me to bed, Jamie—but not for that, just . . . tuck me in?”

“Of course.”

He took her hand and led her to his bed, where he tucked her in. He stroked her curls away from her forehead before placing a soft kiss there.

Claire smiled at him, her eyelids drooping. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sweet dreams, Sassenach.”


	10. Memories of That Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so sorry it's taken me 200 years to update, but hey, we got there in the end. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments this story has received, it means a lot!

**December 16, 2017**

“I didn’t know.”

Jamie felt the anger flare up again. “ _Didn’t know_? Ye mean to tell me you approached me at the exhibition and it was a coincidence?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “No, all right? It wasn’t a coincidence. I recognised you—how could I not? I see you in my daughter every day.” She took a breath before continuing. “I didn’t come to Scotland to find you, if that’s what you thought. Meeting you was a coincidence, talking to you was not.”

_I feel cheated of twenty years we could’ve had together_. So that was the truth then. They really missed out on all that time. They’d really met before.

“I didn’t tell you about her because . . . well, I didn’t know. I don’t know what else to tell you.

“The full story. Ye can start with that.”

“Fine. Okay. We met in Inverness, twenty years ago. It was when I was here with Frank—I told you about that. We met in a bar—do you remember?”

“Vaguely.” At least he supposed his subconscious remembered, given his dreams about her.

“Well, you were pissed anyway, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I don’t remember much myself. I’d had a nasty fight with Frank, and at the time I was certain we were headed for divorce. I went to the pub to soothe my heartache. That’s when I met you.”

Jamie did remember that. He remembered the dim light of the pub, and the smell of the whiskey she’d been drinking.

“My memory gets fuzzy from thereon, but I remember—” Her eyes darted to the floor. “I remember we were at your place—hotel room, I think.”

“Aye . . . my hotel room . . .”

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but we had sex—obviously,” she added, glancing towards the other room, where Brianna was. “I remember the morning much more clearly. I woke up before you and left instantly. God, I was so ashamed. No matter the problems I had in my marriage, I _was_ married and I’d . . .”

Claire turned away from him, eyes screwed shut. She took a deep breath and continued, “Though, ironically, you saved my marriage.”

That made Jamie raise his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “That was one of our problems, you see, that I thought I couldn’t have children. I wanted to adopt a child, but Frank didn’t. We fought about it a lot. And then . . . Brianna happened. When I was pregnant, I never thought she could be yours.”

_Yours_.

Jamie couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had been so focused on confronting Claire and the fact that they had me before that he’d forgotten the most important thing: he had a daughter. _His_ daughter. Brianna.

“We were happy. Finally, we would have the family we always wanted.” Claire smiled wistfully. “Out blissful relationship soon became strained, though. You see, Frank’s baby didn’t look at all like Frank’s baby. I think he suspected something early on, but he didn’t say anything. He was too happy about being a father to care too much about something like hair colour.”

“I take it that changed over time. What happened?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. Suddenly I just knew he was aware, but he never said anything. We didn’t talk about. Our relationship changed, but his love for Brianna didn’t.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, at the time, I had no way of contacting you. I couldn’t really inform you she was yours. Besides, it was easier just pretending she was Frank’s.”

Jamie nodded. He understood. For all he felt betrayed—not by Claire, but by time and circumstances—he understood.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Claire offered. She looked so apologetic. She must’ve thought that he was still angry.

Jamie took her hand in his. “I’m not angry ye lied, Sassenach. I’m sad that ye felt ye couldna tell me—couldna trust me not to judge you.”

“I do trust you, Jamie.”

He pulled her in for a hug. Holding her close always calmed him.

They stood like that for a long time, until Jamie finally said, “Ye havena told Brianna.”

Claire shook her head. “I don’t know what she’d make of it.”

“Will ye?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. He wanted to know his daughter, but it wasn’t as simple as just walking up to her and say ‘Hello, I’m yer da.’

“Not now.” Seeing Jamie’s expression, Claire rushed to add, “It would be better if she got to know you first. I do plan on telling her, she deserves to know . . . and you deserve for her to know you properly. I just don’t want it to come as a big shock.”

“I think it’ll be a shock no matter how or when you tell her.”

“I know, but I’m hoping I can soften the blow. If she knows you, if she likes you, maybe she’ll accept it.”

“Do ye—do ye think she will? Like me, that is.” He couldn’t help the shyness creeping into his voice.

“I know she will. Come on, I think it’s time you and her had a proper conversation.”


End file.
